Flour and Water
by JantoJones
Summary: NS and IK investigate a suspicious mill town.
1. Chapter 1

"It's a water tower."

"That's what I like about you I.K.," Napoleon chuckled. "You have excellent observational skills."

Illya resisted the urge to sigh. "The question implicit in my statement was, why are we standing beneath this water tower?"

The Russian hadn't had a chance to get all the details of the assignment as yet. All he knew was, he was to meet Napoleon near the small, rural town of Hope Meadow, where they would flush out a nest of THRUSHes.

"Intelligence got information to say that the flour mill here is in THRUSH hands," Solo told his partner. "They seemingly supply to the Purple Valley Bakery."

That was a name Illya new. After a near escape from a warehouse bearing the name 'Purple Valley Produce'*, he had initiated an investigation into occurrences of the name. It cropped up too many times for it to be coincidence. This assignment was obviously a result of that investigation.

"That still doesn't explain the tower."

"The whole town works at the mill," Napoleon explained. "From what has been observed, they all troop to and from mill in silent ranks."

"Including the children?"

"There are no children." Solo told him. "Yet at the last count, there were seventeen children under the age of sixteen."

Illya really didn't like to think what might have happened to them. The best case scenario would be that they were taken to one of the THRUSH schools. With a bit of luck, they'd be able to find them after the assignment was over and done with. The worst case scenario didn't bear thinking about.

"Since you don't appear to be coming to the point anytime soon, I'm going to assume that the water in this tower is turning the townspeople into mindless slaves."

"You can be so impatient Tovarisch," Napoleon sniped. "But yes, the water is laced with something, but I have a plan."

Solo explained that he wanted Illya to bring the tower down. Hopefully that would bring some of the guards their way. They would 'borrow' a couple of uniforms and head for the mill.

"I'm going with the supposition that the workers obey the orders of anyone in the right uniform."

"You know," Illya postulated. "It would be a lot easier if we were provided with the uniforms, instead of having to steal them every time. I never get trousers short enough."

Solo smiled at Illya's complaint before asking him if he had any explosives on him. Of course, he knew full well Kuryakin never went anywhere without his small personal arsenal. After a brief inspection of the water tower, Illya chose the optimum position for his charges. Napoleon watched on in awe as his partner clambered up and down the support struts. It truly did impress him just how agile the man was. Illya dropped back to the ground and suggested they find protective cover. Ducking down behind a large boulder, Illya grinned madly as he let his explosions go.

He'd set the charges in such a way that the tower would fall away from them. Not knowing what the substance in the water was, Illya didn't want to risk them coming into contact with it.

Napoleon pulled his special from its holster. "Showtime."

To be continued. . .

_*Salad Spun._


	2. Chapter 2

It didn't take long for a response to the explosion. Within a matter of minutes a jeep, containing two THRUSH flunkies, arrived at the scene. From their position, behind the boulder, Napoleon and Illya swiftly sleep-darted the two men.

"That was disconcertingly easy," Illya commented, as the stripped the guards of their blue uniforms and berets.

"Maybe it's an indication of a nice smooth mission Chum."

Illya had to shake his head at Napoleon's eternal optimism. The two men donned their stolen uniforms and, as always seemed to be the case, Solo's fit perfectly. Illya, on the other hand, had to turn the trouser legs up a couple of times.

"Okay, plan of action," Napoleon announced. "I'll check the mill area, you investigate the office.

MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU

Adjusting the beret on his head, Illya procured himself a clipboard. He'd learned from past experience that people rarely bothered someone studying a clipboard. Locating the office, Illya knocked on the door, which bore the legend 'Miss Evelyn Baxter'. A harsh female voice beckoned him in. He entered the office and was met with the sight of an exceptionally beautiful dark haired woman. The one flaw to her beauty was the cruel sneer she was sporting. She looked at Illya with barely concealed contempt.

"What do you want?" She snarled.

"S. .sorry to disturb you Miss Baxter," Illya stuttered, pretending to be cowed by the woman. "There is a problem in packing."

"What kind of problem?"

"No idea Ma'am."

Miss Baxter slammed her pen down onto the desk.

"Why do I bother having underlings," she yelled into Illya's face. "If I still have to do everything myself?"

"Couldn't say Ma'am."

As soon as the woman had stormed out, Illya immediately set about searching the office. It wouldn't take Miss Baxter long to realise she'd been sent on a wild goose chase. Most of the files he found were general production and personnel records, but Illya eventually struck gold. He'd discovered the formula for the substance in the water. The information also told him that the best way for the substance to work was by exposing a subject to the steam from the treated water. However, adding the substance to flour would cause a similar, though slightly less powerful, reaction when baked in bread. Regular exposure would keep a population controlled quite easily.

"What are you doing?"

Illya froze, before turning to face the voice.

"I was asked to get a file for Miss Baxter," he told the rather aggressive looking guard in the doorway.

Hardly," the man growled. "No-one but Miss Baxter is allowed into the files. On your knees with your hands on your head."

MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU

While Illya was searching the office, Napoleon was patrolling the main production area. He found it to be quite eerie. There were dozens of people, but they were all silent and they moved as though sleep-walking. If Napoleon stopped in front of one of them, they stood, with their heads bowed, until he moved out of the way.

Solo spent some time looking around, trying to get a feel of the land. As he approached a door, which led to the administration block, it was opened from the other side. Being a consummate professional, Napoleon barely flinched at the sight of Illya. The blond agent was being escorted at gunpoint and, judging by the set of his jaw, Solo could tell he was far from happy at being captured. The Russian caught the American's eye, but made no indication of knowing him.

The woman striding ahead of Illya ordered Napoleon to join the escort. He took up position behind his partner, but was careful not to point his stolen rifle directly at him. The situation wasn't ideal, but Solo was an expert at dealing with shifting strategies. He would see how the situation played out.

Illya was taken to what appeared to be a locker room. At the far end was a large glass box, with a door at the front. Miss Baxter told Illya to step into the box before locking him in. She pressed some buttons on a nearby control panel, and from the floor of the glass box steam began to flow. Illya didn't need to be told what was happening. He could only hope that Napoleon had a plan.

The steam quickly enveloped the Russian. He could feel his senses numbing and tried to reach out to Napoleon. From outside, Illya was nothing more than a silhouette. Through the rivulets of water running down the inside of cool glass walls, Solo could see his partner reaching out. He couldn't help him yet, but Napoleon was forming an idea.

To be continued.


	3. Chapter 3

Illya couldn't think. He felt as though his brain was shutting down and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. The trapped agent banged his hands, ineffectually, against the glass. Very quickly, his will was gone and his hands dropped to his sides. Illya had a vague awareness, but no longer had any real conscious thoughts.

Napoleon had a ridiculously tight grip on his rifle, willing himself to allow things to play out. He had an idea, but his whole plan hinged on Illya's captor doing one particular thing.

The steam cleared to reveal a soggy and passive Russian. Miss Baxter unlocked the door and beckoned him out.

"Name?" She demanded.

"Illya Nickovitch Kuryakin."

Evelyn Baxter laughed with joy. This was a name which was well known throughout THRUSH.

"You are an U.N.C.L.E. agent."

"Yes."

She laughed again; a harsh, maniacal cackle, which would be more suited in a horror B-movie. The capture of such a, top level, U.N.C.L.E. agent would be her ticket out of the dead-end backwater she'd been stuck in.

"From this moment on, you will obey any order given to you by either me, or anyone in this uniform, she told Illya, while pointing to Napoleon. "Do you understand?"

"Yes."

That was the moment Napoleon was waiting for. Without giving any warning, he swung the butt of the rifle up into the guard's face, knocking him out cold. He simultaneously ordered Illya to force his captor into the steam box. Momentarily stunned at the turn of events, Miss Baxter was unable to say anything. It wasn't until Illya grabbed hold of her that she got a grasp of the situation.

"Take your hands off me!"

Illya's arms immediately dropped to his sides again. Napoleon was aware that would happen, he'd merely been buying himself time to take out the guard. He pointed the rifle at Miss Baxter and ordered her not to say another word to Illya. As for the Russian himself, who was currently a bit of liability, he couldn't think of anything else to do with him apart from stand him out of the way.

Napoleon indicated, with the rifle, for Miss Baxter to step into the box. Once she was inside, he started the steam flowing before turning back to Illya. It wasn't the first time his partner had been reduced to a mindless state, but it was hard for Napoleon to not see the usual intelligent spark in the man's eyes. A thought suddenly occurred to him.

"Illya, did you find anything about the substance in the office?" he asked. The fact his partner had said his name, and had answered in English, told Solo that he must still retain his knowledge.

"Yes," Illya replied, flatly.

Napoleon smiled. "By the way, what _is_ that woman's name?"

"Evelyn Baxter."

A truly terrible and shameful thought crossed Napoleon's mind. With Illya in this state, he could ask him anything. All those things about his past, which he refused to discuss, could be brought into the open with one little question. Solo banished the thought as quickly as it had come. He would never breach Illya's trust like that; it had taken too long to earn it.

As soon as the glass box was clear again, Napoleon released Miss Baxter and ordered her out. She complied immediately, meaning Solo could bring about a swift end to this assignment. He only hoped Illya and the townsfolk could be returned to normal.

MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU

Napoleon handed his report to Mr Waverly and sat down at the conference table. He waited until his boss had taken a quick glance before giving him a verbal version.

"The mill seems to have been in THRUSH hands for about six weeks," he began. "God knows how much of the treated flour has entered the food chain. I have a team tracing it."

"Do we know yet what the controlling substance is, Mr Solo?"

Napoleon turned to the page which named the substance, but didn't even attempt to pronounce it.

"It took research two days, but they finally found out what it was and what it did. They have asked me to thank you for signing off on the new computer, by the way. Apparently without the new, faster system, it would have taken over a week."

Waverly nodded an acknowledgement and waved a hand for the CEA to continue.

"They have concluded that the substance needs to be administered every two or three days for it to remain effective," Napoleon explained. "Miss Baxter has been very helpful. She has confirmed that the substance is still in the experimental stage and the formula hasn't yet been given over to THRUSH Central."

"I take it that our own scientists will be continuing the research our feathered friends began?"

"Absolutely Sir," Solo confirmed. "It will make interrogations a lot shorter."

Mr Waverly pushed a file over to Napoleon. "I have good news of my own."

Looking through the pages, Solo discovered that all the children from the town had been found and would be returned as soon as possible.

"They are all unharmed?"

"Yes," Waverly acknowledged. "The older ones were to be sent to a THRUSH training facility, while the younger ones were to be sold for adoption."

Napoleon sneered. Their long term enemy had no regard whatsoever for human life. The telephone next to Waverly began to ring and was quickly answered by the Old Man.

"Waverly. . . . . . That is excellent news doctor. . . . . I'll send him down at once. . . . . Thank you, doctor."

He hung up and turned back to Napoleon. "It would appear Mr Kuryakin has recovered himself. The doctor tells me he can be released from medical but needs to be watched by someone for at least another day."

"That will be my cue."

"You are both on leave for forty-eight hours," Waverly told Napoleon, as the younger man stood up. "I suggest you hurry to medical. Doctor Evans made it clear that haste would be very much appreciated."

Napoleon grinned.

MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU

Arriving in medical, Napoleon was greeted by Illya's nurse.

"Good morning, Bridget. How are you this fine day?"

"Things will get a lot better when you have removed your partner from my presence," she replied tersely. Then her tone softened. "I have to admit though; I would rather have him in his cranky state than that weird compliant state he's been in. That was just creepy."

"Tell me about it," Napoleon agreed.

Poking his head around the door frame, more out of fear of flying objects than anything else, he saw Illya was dressed and ready to go.

"I am perfectly able to get myself home," the Russian groused as soon as he noticed the American.

Napoleon had learned not to argue, as it just made the man grouchier. Instead, he simply bribed him.

"I have no doubt of that, Tovarisch," he said, smiling. "But who would buy you lunch and then take you out for dinner?"

Illya wasn't a stupid man, and didn't particularly enjoy being treated like a child. However, Napoleon owed him at least five lunches and seven dinners, so was happy to play along.

"That will be agreeable my friend," he replied. "But I think I will steer away from bread and cakes for a while."

The End.


End file.
